Okay… so you all remember the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: the campy cartoons, and slightly-less-campy comics, about the anthropomorphic warrior turtles with their rat master, Splinter, right? And do you all remember the primary antagonist of the franchise: the evil samurai looking chap ominously referred to as ‘Shredder‘? Well for those of you that do, but aren’t sure as to just what became of Mr ‘Shredder’, I would like to inform you of something:
The Turtles decapitated him.
This isn’t like Sonic the Hedgehog, where Dr Robotnik gets a bonk on the head; nor is it Mario, where Bowser simply gets kicked off screen while vicious sociopath Mario tries to garner an appreciation fuck out of the traumatised princess. This is the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles…
… and when you fuck with them, they cut your fucking head off.
Herein lies a list of silly hypothetical questions; the kind of tedious, banal, utterly pointless questions that you had really ought to get used to if ever you intend to spend more than roughly four minutes in my immediate vicinity (not that you would).
Also, feel free to leave any comments and/or answers and justifications, as well as more questions, in the section below… because it’s not like you, or any of the other folks who would bother reading this, have anything better to do.
In the spirit of the recently passed Easter festivities, I just wanted to ask a few quick questions, as there are a couple of Easter aspects that I don’t quite understand. Any comments explaining things to me would be most welcome!
I barely know where to start with this. My day has just been insane. I guess I should do a quick recap to (try to) make it make any sense to anyone reading… Although I doubt I’ll have too much luck as it makes fuck all sense to me, and I was there!
Basically, the bar I work at has had its busiest week in the 7 or 8 years of its existence. I started the day on my 12th 12 hour shift in a row with only one day off somewhere in the middle, no time to eat, drink or rest in any way and as someone who already has severe life-long insomnia, I can barely articulate my exhaustion, but can attempt to summarise it by saying “I am fucked.” Although to be honest, I’m probably too tired to even finished the word, so “I am fu…” may be more appropriate.
Reaching, and crossing, breaking point about half a week ago, I have been tip-toeing the line between mild confusion brought on by severe fatigue, and what a doctor may refer to as “a full blown fuck-tacular breakdown”…
So you can imagine my surprise when Miss Havisham came to the bar.